


RePLAY

by snowingdragons



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies), Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hijack, M/M, Nerd Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, Punk Jack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 07:13:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2642846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowingdragons/pseuds/snowingdragons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But it's always the same; the other is usually depicted as beautiful and striking and the narrator can't stop thinking about them, their hands get sweaty and the world spins at the sight of them. That's not how it goes, though. Not for real." PunkNerd HiJack AU. Modern.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crashes and meetings

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! There isn't much to say for the beginning of this one. I had been writing it for a bit, posting it on tumblr and on FanFiction. net. It wasn't getting much attention and I was thinking maybe people here would enjoy it. Hopefully.

"That was completely ridiculous. You didn't have to act like that." He hissed his voice. It sounded almost as vicious as the rain that hit the car as we drove.

Even though it was nighttime, raining, and no street lights, I took this time to floor it. I was just too pissed, I had to get home before I kicked the dashboard so hard, the airbag would fly out. "You heard the way he was speaking to me. Disrespect!"

"Well, Jack, you surely didn't respect him either." Hiccup pursed his lips, moving them as close to his tongue as possible. He always looked cute when he was angry or frustrated. Sometimes, I would catch him doing it while he was thinking or he'd be staring at his phone with wide eyes as he did it.

"I would have respected him if he gave me a warmer welcome." I glared at the road. Slick, black, long. Not a car or anything for miles it seemed. "Him saying 'oh, so you're the one' and then ignoring my offer for a handshake? He wasn't for respect, Hic, he was asking for my fucking fist in his face!"

He turned to me completely and I could feel his glare from the side of me. "Language, Jackson! And, you know, you aren't exactly the warmest log in the fire! You glared at him all night!"

"That's only because he glared at me!" The whole time his father stared at me with this cold look and I could see his knuckles turn white from gripping the fork too tight. No doubt, he wanted to throw it between my eyes. No doubt in my mind at all. "Your father hates me, so I might as well hate him back!"

"He wouldn't hate you if you didn't come over like this!" I could feel Hiccup gesture to my piercings, tattoos, t-shirt, baggy pants, and overly used shoes. I had a sweatshirt, but I was too angry to put it on and instead threw it in the backseat as we left his house.

His parents weren't hateful toward his sexuality like my father was, but at least one of them was hateful toward me. His mother saw the good in me while his father looked only at my crust, my outward appearance. He didn't ask why I dressed this way or even if I had a reason to. All he did was listen to rumors, take them in, and judge me for himself the moment he saw me. While his mother smiled and shook my hand, saying it was nice to meet me, his father snarled, throwing that comment like a spit. Nobody who acted like that deserved my respect.

I stayed silent as my boyfriend groaned and slumped in the seat next to me, throwing his head back. When things got tense like this and he did that, I would usually throw a free hand at his stomach and begin tickling him till he was breathless. Not only would it light up the mood, but it would get him smiling again. Those buckish teeth, the gaps between them, the way his eyes sparkled like untouched snow. I would give anything to see that right now. But I was still pissed and I knew no amount of tickling would relieve his stress at the moment.

"Why do you even care anyway?" I could hear his adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he spoke, his head turning toward me and his eyes glaring at me once more. "You told me you didn't care if any of them liked you."

Finally, I turned my head and stared at him. To unknowing eyes, he looked relaxed; arm slumped over his stomach, body leaned back into the seat. But I just glared back. What a terrible mistake. "I don't give a shit what I said before, I do care." I did. Having his family accept me would have been awesome. It didn't matter now, though.

Hiccup's green eyes swerved, doing a double take as his screams deafened everything else. I turned with wide eyes and didn't hear the screech that the tires made as I tried to turn away from the whatever it was with lights. It didn't even take on a full shape. All I had time to see was two bright orbs ramming into my face. My arm moved over and plastered itself onto my boyfriend's chest, hoping that the lights wouldn't strike him as well. I could feel my head pound against the roof of the car and his body jerk against my hand. The windshield cracked and glass showered over us, grass filling its place. I blinked and then I could see the bright orbs staring at me again. Another blink and I saw Hiccup's bloodied face against mine, the car still twirling. I blinked once more and…

PAUSE.

Every Sunday, we'd walk two blocks to go to the movies. We'd always pick the ones that stopped showing that week. So that we'd be alone and we could scream at the characters all we wanted, throwing popcorn around and crying when other people would have stared. Sometimes, we'd bring my little sister and she'd sit between us so we 'wouldn't do anything funny'. She is very protective over me to the point where she hardly even allowed me to hold hands with another person in her presence.

If we were sick or just too lazy to go or had to come home late, we'd pick a movie from my many shelves of video tapes and DVDs. I liked those days better; cuddling up on the floor in a pile of pillows, watching Hiccup push his glasses up his nose with his middle finger, making root beer floats…those times were better than going to the theaters. And when one of us got up to use the bathroom or get more pillows or get something to drink, we would yell 'pause'. Sometimes I didn't. Hiccup would then glare at the remote in my hand and tell me the rewind so that he could see what he missed.

There was a lot between the first day and the day of the dinner. And like a movie, it started playing in my head.

REWIND.

In books and in movies, the day someone meets the love of their life is usually a happy one. The sun is usually shinning or it's snowing beautifully outside. Or they stare into each other's eyes after one had just moved into the neighborhood and began going to school with the other. There are many different ways love is brought up in media; childhood friends turned couple in high school, two sides of the tracks fall for each other behind family's backs. But it's always the same; the other is usually depicted as beautiful and striking and the narrator can't stop thinking about them, their hands get sweaty and the world spins at the sight of them. That's not how it goes, though. Not for real.

It was raining outside. And not that kind of rain that makes you sing and dance and twirl your umbrella. It was the cold, October rain that damaged your hopes of Halloween being possible in the next week. And there I sat in the third floor boy's bathroom, window open and cigarette dangling between my fingers. The school was nice and clean save for this one bathroom that hardly anyone used and everyone forgot about. Except for me.

The ladies used the first floor girl's bathroom more than the second. Something about how it was close to the locker rooms and they could see baseball players come out in their towels sometimes. The second floor boy's bathroom was close to a classroom with a teacher inside that spent way too much time on her looks. Everyone had a dress code, including us students with our uniforms, but she took it to a level that made every boy's jaws drop to the ground. So that made the third floor boy's bathroom unused all the time.

As I watched cars drive down the street a little ways away, I loosened my tie and scratched the back of my head. Bringing the butt of the cigarette up to my lips, all I could think about was my little sister, Emma, and her pleading this morning when she asked if I could play with her when I got home. I smiled and breathed in the smoke that I was so used to. Hide and seek, hopscotch, red light, green light; all her favorite games. And that's not even counting the board games as well. I turned toward the window and breathed out, the smoke trailing out the window and getting lost in the slight mist.

That's when he walked in. At first, I thought it was a teacher. So, when I looked over at the doorway for the bathroom, I couldn't help but glare and bite my bottom lip to get ready for a fight. But instead of a teacher standing in the doorway, there stood that lanky brunet; glasses hanging off the tip of his nose, face red with embarrassment more than likely, knuckles white from clutching the bottom of his shirt. His eyes were wide with what looked like fear and he even whimpered slightly as he walked toward the stall. He never took his eyes off me as if I was a spider he didn't want to be around. I ignored him for the most part; going back to looking out the window and skipping English class. I didn't understand what was so scary about me other than my piercings and tattoos. I hardly ever picked fights and when I did, it was for self defense. They had always started it, I was just finishing it. But other than the designs imprinted on my body, my dyed white hair, and the silver rings and balls around my ears and face, I looked no different than he did. Still wore the same uniform, had the same shoes. I took a puff off the cigarette again and let the smoke sit in my throat for a second before breathing out the window.

In truth, I hated the taste. The whole act made me feel sick. But if I didn't, I'd feel even more sick. My hands would shake, my chest would feel tight. I hated the people that dragged me down into performing the act in the first place.

As I brought the cigarette up to the window to tap off the ashes, the small framed brunet walked out of his stall, coughing. He glanced at me once more before walking away, his arm up over his mouth and nose. When school ended, I saw him once more, walking in the hallways with his chin up and glasses pushed back. His nose was rounded and looked a lot like either a baby's balled up hand or like a smallish potato. His freckles dotted each part of his face, hardly leaving actual skin behind. His most striking feature, though, was his eyes. Those bright, deep eyes that looked all too much like the apple Jones soda I picked up after school kept staring off into nothingness.

Continuing down the hallway, he began glancing this way and that until he tripped and fell, causing the books and papers in his arms to scatter across the floor. Everyone moved out of the way but not a single one of them stopped to help him. Papers were stepped on, books were kicked open, more things flew out of the brunet's hands as he tried to hurry and pick things up. I sighed at the sight and looked around before beginning to pick things up myself.

"You okay?" I asked as he pushed his glasses further up his nose.

"Y-yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." He nodded, not looking up at me as he picked his stuff up a bit slower now. He even shot out a smile as he lifted his head when I handed him one of his many books. As soon as he saw my face, though, the smile disappeared and his face instantly became red with even more embarrassment. He gasped and backed away, grabbing the book from my hands and stuffing it into his messenger bag.

"I-I-I'm sorry!" He quickly stuttered out as he stood up, his glasses almost falling off his nose. "I-I-I have to g-go!" And with that, he ran off, not even looking up anymore.

I shrugged and continued on my way. I nodded at people with a smirk as they called my name and waved teasingly at teachers that glared at me. Almost all the staff gave me some sort of look. All except the ladies at the front desk who ignored everyone. Until you walked up to them and asked them something, then they'd be glaring and spitting words at you like you were some criminal. Or maybe it was just me.

By the front desk was a row of trophy cases. Most of the trophies and awards were for academic events. Like chess, spelling bees, geography, things like that. Hardly any sported a baseball man on top and even less with a giant golden football. Right in the center though is where the team photographs sat with brass plaques showing the names of each member. And there, right there was the geography team from last year.

The almost all looked the same but I stopped and stared. There, right to the right, was the potato nose brunet himself, forcing a smile. I searched for the name. Alan…Trevor…Henry. Henry Haddock. Now I remember the name. I made fun of him sophomore year for how close his name sounded to hungry haddock. Back then, he looked like a runt child. Now…he still looked like a runt but a bit less like a child. Mostly like a hiccup if a hiccup had a physical appearance.

I chuckled and continued walking home, not really thinking much of him afterward. I played hide and seek with my little sister, helped my mother cook and serve dinner, and stayed about as far away from my father as I could. He was like an angry drunk if people could get drunk off bottled water. There was hardly a time in which he didn't have a bottle in his hands and his robe off his back. When everything was finally cleaned, my sister tucked in bed, and my father's reminder that I was lucky to be in his house sounded, I climbed into my bed myself.

The rain continued outside and I wondered if we'd still be able to trick or treat on Friday. Trick or Treat or not, I'm still wearing my costume to school…


	2. Class debates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little....a lot...it's bad. Very bad.

FASTFORWARD.

I didn't see him for two more days. Most of my time was spent either in my kitchen preparing costumes for Halloween or in the third floor boy's bathroom. I hardly walked into class and when I did, it was always at least twenty minutes late and everyone inside stared in silence as I sat down in my seat. The teacher would glare, stare for a bit longer to see if I was pulling some joke and continue on with the lesson. I listened to those lessons just about as much as I attended them.

For the first time in the longest time, I decided to go to English class. If anyone had asked, I would deny that I actually wanted to go. I would have told them another truth to hide the real one; ran out of cigarettes and I got tired staring at the same four walls and seven stalls. So, before the tardy bell rang, I ran into class and sat down in the back, grinning at the sight of all the empty desks. I was the first one there. No staring, no silence caused by people. No awkwardness that made me feel more horrible than I had already.

By the time the bell rang, I had filled up two whole pages in my notebook of doodles that reminded me of my tattoos. That's when I saw him. Still curled up in on himself as if he was a turtle trying to crawl into his shell, his glasses still hanging off the tip of his nose. His hair looked messy as if someone had been playing with it for a while and his head was down so not a soul could see his face. He scrambled through the line of desks and sat in front of mine, placing his bag on the ground. I just sort of stared at him at first. Mostly the back of his head but I noticed how he would twirl his pencil between his fingers as he listened to the teacher ramble on about some dead man who once wrote plays that, from what I heard, were completely amazing. One of them, Romeo and Juliet, was the subject of today's debate. Last time I was in English class was about Freshmen year. Currently, I'm a Junior. And every English class goes about the same routine; talk about a subject, pick a topic and debate.

As the teacher began talking more about what exactly from the play we should debate, the brunet in front of me started writing things down, his head bobbing up to look at the bored then back down to copy what was written. Strange. Left handed. I've never seen someone write left handed before.

A few times, he took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing it to relax his face. And as people around the class began talking about the ridiculous idea of love at first sight, he turned his head. Now I know why he kept his head down as he passed through the class. He didn't want the teacher to see his black eye. It can't be hurting that much now but it still looked red around some areas and clearly needed an ice pack.

"Henry?" The teacher asked as he tapped the eraser of his pencil against his chin. Shit. He saw me. Fuck, he's looking right at me. Oh, phew, he went back to the brunet. "You seem rather quiet. Usually, you're all over the debate."

"Yeah, sorry, sir." His voice wavered. He was nervous no doubt. "Um…I don't think it's possible." The hiccup shifted in his seat, leaning over his desk with his arms stretched out.

Mr. Black, our teacher, raised his eyebrows at the words. "You don't think that love at first sight is possible? Explain."

The five girls that sat in the class all turned to him. Even though I was mostly focused on Henry's pencil twirling talent, I did hear them all try to back up the completely false notion that you could fall in love just by looking at some handsome football player's face. They were the only ones to debate unfortunately.

"I don't think it's possible because when you first see someone attractive, you're not feeling love at first sight. You're feeling lust." Henry tried to explain, sitting up a bit. "Sometimes, you don't even feel that. Time, though, that's what causes love. Spending time with that person or with any person changes your view of them. Some ugly things come in pretty packages."

The teacher nodded and smiled in approval. I even smiled in approval. Finally, someone put it into proper words! I felt like clapping almost but I settled for tapping my foot against the strange linoleum floor that was pretty generic for schools. I even felt like tapping him on the shoulder and giving him a 'fuck yeah', but that would cause for people to turn heads. So for the rest of that class, I smirked and smiled and grinned, staring at the back of Henry's head. Every few minutes he would turn his head, seeming to look at the clock, but I knew he was looking to see if I was still staring at him. And I was. Kid impressed me. And I'm not one that is easily impressed.

I stood next to him when the bell rang and ducked my head as we all piled out of the class and into the hallway. Thankfully, Mr. Black didn't see me. But Henry sure did. He glanced at me with a scared light to his glaring eyes and turned, walking away at a faster pace. It wasn't long after I turned a corner that he blended into the uniformed group of rich teenagers. I shrugged and continued on my way to the third floor boy's bathroom. Even though I was completely out of cigarettes, I couldn't really stop myself. It was like standing up from the table to put something down in the kitchen but you end up in your own bedroom instead; plate full of nasty bones and sweet tasting cob without the corn.

Once I was there, though, I wasn't sure what to do. I threw my bag down by the window I usually sat at and stared outside. It wasn't raining but it wasn't exactly sunny and bright. It was a lot like the sky was painted over in light gray. Or silver. Either way, it was more depressing than New England usually is and instead of staring outside, I decided to take out a pen and draw on my arms. With the cap of the pen in my mouth for me to chew, I drew a rose on the inside of my forearm. With all the tattoos I have, my sister always asked me why I didn't get a pretty one. Sure, I had a few snowflakes here and there, but she always bothered me on why I didn't have one of a princess or one of a rose. So most of the rest of the day was dedicated to her overly expressed need for something pretty to be drawn on my skin. The only time I realized how late it was getting was when I heard football players chanting after the last bell, being mixed with the laughter and chatter of the regular students.

I sighed, took the cap of my pen out of my mouth and tossed both pieces into my bag, zipping it up as I hopped off the window sill. The door to the bathroom opened and in stumbled a cheerleader and Henry. The girl groaned, making that frustrated girl sound that most prep girls do, making her sound like a growling Chihuahua. Flipping her braid over her shoulder and picking up her pomp-pomps, she stormed out of the bathroom and back into the hallway.

Henry groaned as well, but more like he was upset that his books and papers fell onto the floor. He muttered a 'great, just great' before he pushed his glasses up his nose and started gathering his things.

I couldn't help but chuckle. "We always seem to meet like this." I said and handed him a book.

"Yeah…I guess." He spoke much firmer, his timid nature not there like usual. "Do you always hang around in bathrooms?" As soon as the words left his mouth, his eyes became wide like he had just made a grave mistake. Like his death was happening in front of him.

"Just this one." I shrugged and smiled slightly. "Hey, your speech in class was pretty fucking impressive. Usually people stand up for true love at first sight. But finally someone understands!"

He was tense. Completely. I could feel how tense he was as we stood up and I handed him the last book. He shrugged and nodded, glancing up at me before looking back down and straightening everything in his arms. "Well, it's the truth." He whispered and walked away.

Of course, I followed after him, but it was pretty useless trying to find him in a hallway full of people wearing the same thing and most have the same color hair. So instead of running around, turning shoulders at every person with brown hair, I made my way down the stairs and to the front doors. To my surprise, there sat my sister on one of the benches dedicated to students that lost their lives over the years due to car crashes or murder.

She was running her fingers over one of the gold plaques and mouthed out the name. From a few feet away, I could just make out the name 'Jennifer Keys'. Most of them said the same thing; name, birth and death days, and then a 'loving student to all'. I never understood why they wrote that on most of them even though it might not be true. Whenever I looked the names up in old yearbooks or in the trophy cases, they were always with the higher class kids. They never really seemed to go to the other students that sat in the back. I knew one that died in a car crash due to him being drunk during Freshmen year. On the one closest to the doors, his plaque reads 'a big brother to all'. He only talked to Team Captains. Soccer, football, and hockey. All in all, he was more loved by the teachers than he was by anyone else. His basketball team liked him okay, and they even placed a basketball each by his casket but he wasn't everyone's big brother. He certainly wasn't mine every time he pushed me in the halls.

"So…" I started, placing my hands on my hips. "What are you doing here, little lady?"

My sister, Emma, jumped and gasped, clutching her Spiderman backpack to her chest before she glared at me. "I got sent home but I decided to wait for you to come out."

"You got sent home?" She was usually an angel wherever she went. But she was also a superhero when she saw something she knew she could stop. "What happened?"

Emma shrugged, looking down as she played with the flickering lights in Spiderman's head, flicking at it to make it never stop. "Some boys were just being real jerks…some girls, too. They were saying things about you I didn't like. So…I tried to defend you."

"Em…" I sighed. This was the third time this year. "You need to stop doing that. Just go to a teacher like I told you."

"I tried, but they don't listen to me!" She looked at me desperately. "They just tell me not to get into fights and then send me home!"

Another sigh and a groan. We were silent for a while as I rubbed the sides of my head and she continued to flick her Spiderman backpack. I remember our mother getting it for her. She had begged and begged for it ever since I brought her to see the movies. Our mom tried to convince her to go with a rainbow backpack but she had to remind her that rainbows don't 'kick butt and save the day'.

After a while, I began staring at the flashing lights in Spiderman's head then at her face to see her pouting frown. I smiled. "Did you at least win?"

Her lips curled into a smile and she looked up at me. "I kicked those boy's butts pretty hard."

"Well, if you're gonna kick butt, you might as well win." I shrugged and grinned at the sight of her beaming face.

The walk home was filled with talk of Halloween and costumes. And even at times, we would try to play hopscotch with the broken sidewalks. Emma would try to hold my sleeve back so that I would trip or that I'd miss so she could win, but I'd end up pulling her along with me. She laughed and laughed, skipping along beside me. A couple of times, she reached my height and I would ruffle her hair or tap her nose. She would try and ruffle my hair as well, trying to fix her own at the same time. Of course she never made it to my own head seeing as I always ducked out of the way. She smiled and laughed, pushing me softly and telling me that I was cheating at a game I never knew we were playing in the first place.

When we actually got home, things were different. Things were quiet save for my dad's ranting and raving on his live video game in his room. Mom was in the kitchen, quietly making dinner as not to disturb him. Emma ran in, placed a soft kiss on our mom's cheek and ran upstairs to go to her room.

I smiled and closed my dad's bedroom door, stepping closer to the stove. "Hey, mom. How was home?"'

"Oh, same as everyday." She smiled and turned to me. My mom always had her brown hair up in a lazy bun; hairs spewing every which way. Every time I saw it, it reminded me that she works really hard everyday to keep all of us happy. "How was school, sweetie?"

I shrugged. "It was alright." The stew on the stove began to boil and mom started stirring it with her favorite wooden spoon, pushing the steam toward her face so she could smell. "Talked to some nerd today."

PAUSE.

Ever since I was little, it was hard for me to keep friends. I wasn't allowed to bring kids over to my house because my dad got angry about me being too loud with them, I wasn't allowed to go to other kid's houses because my dad got angry about me leaving the house, and most kids parents had heard about me and labeled me a 'bad influence on their kids'. Every once in a while, I'd get one kid to play with me on the playground. Once I had a sort of friend that I kept for almost two weeks. She taught me how to do pull ups on the monkey bars and raced me up slides and then back down. Of course, she stuffed her shoes with rocks and tied them to her feet real fast when she got to the top so I mostly lost. It wasn't long before her parents deemed me a 'demon child' and kept her away from me as much as possible.

By the time I was eight, Emma was born. At first, I thought it was nice; a friend for me to play with and nobody would take her away from me. I was sadly mistaken. My parents had her most of the time and I stayed awake, listening to my father screaming, my mother pleading, and my sister crying. At times, I would cry too. Then there were times I would be beating my pillow in because it was just a horrible thing that my sweet baby sister had to be in the middle of.

When she started to grow up and was able to understand what I was saying, it got a bit better. I played with her and showed her how to do certain things, teaching her how to walk and talk. I finally had a friend and I continued to ignore my mother asking me, begging me, even pushing me to make new friends. Time and time again, I would tell her I couldn't and I would tell her the reasons. She would never buy it and would still go on about how badly I need to hang out with people my age.

As I look at her now and see a smile slowly bloom on her face, I wonder if telling her was the best or worst thing I could do…


	3. Hot Chocolate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's hot chocolate season. It's cookie season. It's eat everything you can at the table and regret it later season. It's the season to get fat. Enjoy :)

PLAY.

“Oh really?” I was starting to realize my mistake as her eyes twinkled with the happiness of a sugar rushed child. “That’s wonderful. What’s his name?”

I shrugged. I almost didn’t tell her. Telling her would mean conversing about this kid I didn’t even know and then breaking her heart as I told her I didn’t even know him. But that didn’t stop my body from sighing out his name. “Henry.” 

She nodded and continued to stir the stew, smiling even bigger. “Henry, hm? He sounds like a very nice boy. You should invite him over for dinner.”

“Um, nah. I don’t think he’d have the time.” I shrugged. “He’s probably busy with…science projects or something.” 

In a way, it might be true. I mostly didn’t want to tell her that I didn’t want to bring a strange kid into our house. Not just because I’d be embarrassed but because he might be uncomfortable with it all. And I don’t think it’d be just our house which wasn’t really dirty as much as it was…cluttery. My mother collected things; glass, papers, bowls, decorations. Most of the time, it was littered everywhere. Our dinning room table was cluttered with depression glass and many papers. I would clean it if I knew where everything went. 

The other thing he’d be uncomfortable about is the way we eat dinner. Which, sadly, wasn’t together. As I’ve said, our dinning room table is cluttered with many things. So, we haven’t eaten dinner together in a proper setting. If we ever did, it was in the living room in front of the tv where my father would choose what he wanted. He always thought that whatever he wanted, the family wanted, even though we’ve told him thousands of times we don’t like his shows. Mostly, we eat in our bedrooms or in front of computers or wherever we liked. For a kid like Henry, though I don’t know him, this wouldn’t be his sort of dinning style. 

My mom nodded, hair strands falling out of her bun. “Alright then.” Her smile faltered. “Why don’t you sit with him at lunch? It would give time for you two to get to know each other. Or do you already sit together?” 

“No, mom.” I chuckled. Food always leads to friendship with her. “He sits with his little study group and I wouldn’t give up my spot for anything.” My spot was the outside hallway that overlooks the picnic tables that are usually full by the time I get my lunch.

Mom shrugged and sighed, trying to keep up her smile as best she could. “Try to make friends with him? Please?” She placed the spoon down beside the pot and walked over, holding my hands. “This could be really good for you. And…and what if he’s the ‘one’? Just try to make friends with him. For me?”

I sighed. Now I started regretting telling her anything about me let alone what I do at school. Every time I brought up a boy bullying me at school or someone being nice to me at camp, she would always pull up the ‘destiny’ card and claim that they were my other half. Stuff like that is still hard for me to swallow. 

“Alright…I’ll talk to him.” That’s all she was getting. No more. 

Later on that night, as I was pushing the chunks of beef around in my bowl of stew and chewing on a freshly made biscuit, I seriously began to wonder what I’d say to that hiccup with glasses. The chance of us having the same interests were about the same chances of me standing up to my loud mouth father. Maybe all I’d say is ‘hi’ or ‘hey’; something small so that I could tell my mother that I did talk to him even if it was just a greeting. 

I stuffed the rest of the biscuit in my mouth and slurped up some of the stew’s broth. Honestly, I loved broth more than I liked the bits and pieces that came with it. Whenever I would have a certain kind of soup or stew, I would use my teeth or spoon as a filter, drinking it almost straight from the bowl. Unless, of course, it was tomato soup. The only time I’d ever eat that is if I had grilled cheese to dunk into it. Otherwise, I didn’t like it and I wouldn’t eat it. Unless of course it was the only thing we had left in the house I could tolerate. 

Tilting my head back and drinking the rest of the stew’s broth, I hear my little sister playing and giggling in the next room. Our rooms; Emma’s, mine, and my parents’ are all in a line on the second floor. The walls separating each room were newly built and are relatively thin, making it easy to hear my sister singing on one side of the house and my father screaming on the other. I smile as I place my bowl down, listening to her talking and giggling more than likely to her dolls. Her voice penetrated the wall separating our rooms, but it was still hard to make out exactly what she was saying unless I pressed my ear to the pale blue wall and listened carefully. By the sounds of it, the Hulk and Barbie are having a tea party while Mario is trying to steal the sugar cubes. 

I go down to the floor and press my forehead to the wall near where I think she is closest and knock softly. She’s silent for a moment before she whispers something to one of her dolls, walking over and knocking on the wall with a giggle. With another knock, I chuckle and imagine passing through, not having to leave my room to get to hers. Emma knocks part of a rhythm and I knock the other half, making her laugh. She tries to knock once more but I keep on tapping my knuckles to the wall, chuckling and soon laughing when I hear her laugh out words. At one point, she laughs out my name and tries to knock louder than me. It wasn’t long until we were in an intense battle of loudness which soon turned into us throwing things at the wall to see who could be louder. This was a big mistake.

As we were playing and as I looked for things to throw, small things, I didn’t even take notice of the lack of screams and rants coming from the other room. I didn’t even notice that the sound of video game guns going off had stopped. That was until my father flew open my door, his lip puckered and eyes narrowed, showing the wrinkles on his forehead. 

“Did you even hear me? I was telling you to fucking stop for five minutes! I swear to God, it’s like talking to a damn wall!” He slammed my door, his rantings following him all the way to his room. “That’s all it is in this house is talking to walls! Not a single person ever fucking listens to me! It’s useless! I’m wasting my breath, I swear to God!”

It continued more and more as he walked into his bedroom and slammed his bedroom door. He went back to playing his game for a moment before my mom went in and asked what was going on. On a usual day, he would scuff so loud I could hear it from outside and say that it was us and then tell her the problem in a loud voice. But today, he decided that everything was the problem and that the only solution is if none of us existed. I felt the need to leave my room and go into Emma’s, cradling her and whispering things to show how important she needs to feel, but I also felt that leaving my room would start another screaming session with my dad. And I already felt like it was my fault he was in a bad mood and wanted to curl up in the corner. Instead, I huffed and put my headphones on, laying in my bed and falling asleep.

The next morning, I felt like I didn’t get an inch of sleep but I knew I got enough to get me running all day. Curled up into my side was my sister, still fast asleep with a stuffed rabbit in her arms. She must have crawled into my bed during the night while I was still asleep. I stretched and yawned, shaking her shoulder to get her up and moving. Tomorrow is going to be Halloween and our costumes weren’t half as done as I hoped they would be. If we get up now, we can still work on them before heading out to school. 

With a groan Emma wakes up and stretches her body all over the bed, turning till she is spread out completely on her stomach and sighs, relaxing. I chuckle, already half dressed in my school’s uniform; black pants and blazer with a regular white shirt. The tie that I try to do is plaid with both colors, the school’s crest laying in the middle so it is always visible. I always hated the lack of colors. My first day at school, I asked one of the teachers why the school colors were black and white. She said it was so that the students wouldn’t get distracted and would focus more on work. It didn’t work. I was always distracted by the robotness of it all. 

My father usually slept in and thankfully, he was still asleep when me and Emma crept downstairs for breakfast. I quickly poured us both bowls of cereal, relaxing a bit as my mother woke up and started her coffee. Our pacing slowed down and we even talked to mom a bit; asking if we needed to be home at a certain time or if we could go certain places after school. It all stopped when our dad walked out with a yawn and a smile. This was one of the many things I hated about him; he could scream whatever he wanted at us and act however he wanted. He could be angry all he wanted and say all he wanted, but we, the rest of the family, were set on untold rules of silence and smiles. Emma smiled and told him ‘good morning’, her legs swinging as she tried to be that perfect little girl she hoped she could be in his eyes. I had given that up long ago when I realized that I could never be the perfect son to him. I was lucky if I was anything to him. 

He sat down with his own coffee and tried to crack a few jokes, sighing and shaking his head when all I did was chuckle slightly. My mother and sister would press their lips together and glance at me before looking back down into their bowls and cups. By then, I was finished with my cereal and quickly put my bowl in the sink. I grabbed my backpack, hugged Emma, waved to my parents, and left as quick as I could.

Across the street, a group of girls laughed and chatted, talking about something that more than likely happened at some football game. The cheerleader from yesterday seemed to walk with a bounce in her step, her pomp-pomps bouncing in her backpack. Looking both ways, I jogged to the other side of the street and walked behind them, staring over at the sun that was just rising. The different oranges and blues, the soft, cool air that brushed against my face and up the sleeves of my blazer were amazing. I turned to look at the houses behind me, to see the light bounce off the windows, but the first thing I noticed when I turned around was Henry, the little Hiccup, walking behind me.

He had peered over his glasses slightly before looking up at the sky. ‘Just try to make friends with him. For me?’ I heard my mother beg as I watched him fiddle with his blazer buttons. I sighed, stopping in my tracks. A promise is a promise after all, even if you never say the word ‘promise’. 

Slowly, I walked backwards till we were shoulder to shoulder. Well…more like my shoulder to his temple and I glanced down at him. “Morning.” I said, taking a deep breath and letting it out.

“Good morning.” He said, sounding more like he was letting out a breath he was holding. “I’m surprised you come to school this early. Or at all.” Maybe after what happened yesterday, he realized that he doesn’t have to be a stiff, cowering board.

I chuckled. “I have my reasons for coming to school on time. Or even early. Or at all. I’m not someone you need to be worrying about. Don’t you have, like, all AP classes?” Advanced Placement classes. Basically College credit classes. It was kind of written on his face that he had a few. 

“I have my reasons for having all AP classes.” Henry rolled his eyes, throwing my line right in my face.

“That’s my line!” With a complete turn, I walked backwards, shoving my hands in my pockets as I looked down at him. “You aren’t allowed to steal my things, you know.”

He lowered his head to try and hide the chuckle he made, sniffling as he turned to look over at the sunrise. It was strange. Having someone to walk to school with, I mean. Sometimes I would walk with Emma and I’d drop her off at school, but that’s different than having someone else walk with you. But it’s also a sort of relief. Like when you get a brand new shirt or brand new shoes. It’s a good, strange feeling that courses throughout your body.

I smiled as I stared at the sun rising through Henry’s glasses. The clouds moved slowly and the colors became more intense. I didn’t notice anything else until he looked down at his hand, pulling out a wallet from his pocket. He leafed through it, pulling out a five and a few ones before stuffing it back into his pants pocket. 

When he placed the money in his blazer pocket, I raised an eyebrow. “What’s that all about?”

“Coffee. I’m getting some coffee at the corner store. Do you want anything?”

I stopped in my tracks. I blinked a few times. Did I even hear that right? “Wh-what?” I whispered.

“Do you want something? Like, a coffee, some breakfast, a-“

“Hot chocolate? Can I have hot chocolate?”

He chuckled and nodded, hiding his face once more by looking down. “One hot chocolate. I think I can handle that.”


	4. Broken noses and chocolate drinks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chocolate, man. It brings people together.

The only hot chocolate I ever had came from small packages we would get during November and December. Me and my sister would sit and stare at the water on the stove top, hoping that we could boil it faster with just the power of our minds. Instead, of course, we ended up making it seem like it took longer than it actually was. When we poured our hot chocolate packets into our mugs, we’d pour at the very least two packets to get a good chocolatey taste. One was never enough. 

I sipped the freshly made, not powder-to-water hot chocolate and grinned. “This is fucking amazing.” The cold air seeped into my mouth as I spoke and instantly froze everything inside. 

“Hot drinks are better in the cold.” Henry nodded and stuffed his wallet into his pocket, looking at the crosswalk lights. 

He was right. I’ve tried to do like what they did in the movies; sit in front of a fire place, blanket around me, hot chocolate in my hands. I ended up with a high fever the next day. From that day on, I thought of special movie moments like those to be like frozen dinners or cookbook recipes: the picture looks a lot better than the actual thing. 

I sipped my drink again, feeling the taste buds at the tip of my tongue burn. That will bug me for the rest of the day. But for now, I ignored it and crossed the street, glancing at a few people we pass by. One woman wore a dress that went down to her mid-shin, her jacket just an inch higher. Her pantyhose moved oddly and I noticed the way she slightly moved her feet out like a pigeon when she walked. Out of a sudden burst of curiosity, I turned to Henry and looked down at his feet. They pointed inwards, sometimes stepping on top of the others toes. Every so often they would straighten out and walk perfectly in line for a while before they slowly turned back in. 

My fingers tingled as a cold burst of air brushed past us and without much thought, I curled them into the insides of my sleeves. “So, what are you doin’ for Halloween?” I asked, trying to sip my hot chocolate. 

Henry shrugged and adjusted his glasses. “Aren’t we a little too old for Halloween?” 

“No! There is no such thing as to old!” I turned and faced him, walking backwards. “That’s like saying you’re too old to celebrate your birthday.” Rolling your eyes and walking backwards is not such a good idea. I slipped slightly but quickly caught my footing, my heart racing as if I had actually fallen.

“So I guess you’re going to school dressed up?” He asked. I nodded proudly with the biggest grin I could muster. He shook his head with a slight smile back and asked, “What are you going as?”

“A piece of candy corn.” Henry sighed and shook his head again, muttering something under his breath. He just didn’t understand; candy corn was one of the only things I had never seen as a costume. “For the past month, I’ve been trying to dye a shirt of mine orange and a pair of pants yellow.” 

He looked at me like I was crazy. Like I was child searching for something that was right in front of my nose. “Why don’t you just buy yellow pants and an orange shirt? And is that why you have white hair?” 

I shook my head and turned to walk normally once more. “You make it sound like I have money growing out of my ears.” After seeing his slight blush of embarrassment and his eyes turn to stare at the people across the street, I sighed. “And I like white hair.”

“And tattoos?” He muttered. 

“Well, yeah. Tattoos are cool. It’s art on your body.” I grinned and rolled down the collar of my shirt, showing him the tribal like tattoo I had going around my neck. 

A few people glanced at me, one even smiling as he looked back down at his phone. Henry, though, just stared. He didn’t seem to know what to say about the black ink embedded into my skin. His mouth hang and he even winced a little, as if looking at it hurt him somehow. 

After a moment of people staring and Henry giving me the extreme look of pity that I hated, I covered my neck back up and sipped my hot chocolate. I watched as he opened and closed his mouth several times before taking a breath and finally talking.

“Does it hurt?” He asked, sounding like he was sorry that it happened in the first place. 

I smiled and shook my head. “Nah. I fell asleep when they did my arms. Doesn't hurt too much. But...” I looked him over, circling him almost like a judgmental parent who would never in a million years let their daughter wear a short skirt and a tube top. “I'm not so sure if you'd fall asleep. You've got baby skin. You'd be crying the whole time.”

“I would not! How would you know?” A bright pink blush danced over his nose, helping bring out his freckles. “You've never even felt my skin.”

I chuckled. “And I would never want to.” Not a total lie, but not completely the truth either. It was kind of tempting to hold his thin shoulder and rub my thumb into it.

For most of the rest of the walk, we were silent. Henry would check his phone for the time every three minutes and I would glance up at the people walking past. I would wonder what kind of home they lived in and what kind of job they had. Some wore regular clothing; jeans and a leather jacket while others wore more expensive things; ties and long jackets that made them seem more important than they probably were. Almost every single one of them had a phone in their hands. They were either texting or calling someone, chatting on bluetooths and laughing at conversations I would never hear the other side of. It was almost disappointing. I enjoyed listening in to conversations that I had no part of.

The number of people died down the closer we got to the school. Mostly, cars pulled up, kids poured out, everyone made their way right into the school building. A few people sat outside on the steps, but they were waiting for others I could tell. Their phones rang or dinged and they texted or chatted until a car pulled up. A group of cheerleaders walked by and I couldn't help noticing the same blonde that was pushed into the third floor bathroom with Henry not too long ago. She talked with a few of her friends, only glancing at us for a moment before walking up the steps to the front doors. 

“I've been meaning to ask,” I stared. “who is she? She like your friend or something?”

Henry shrugged. “Eh, we used to be. We were friends back in the first grade. When second grade rolled around, she just didn't want to be friends anymore. Never knew why.”

“Oh...”

We nodded to each other at the front doors and went our separate ways. I sat through science which seemed interesting most of the time except for today which was just a test. For the whole class, I just stared at the characters on the paper, not making any sense of them until the bell rang. Gym was much more exciting on the fact that we got to go into the weight room. Hardly anyone went into the weight room. The only ones that did were football jerks and advanced PE nerds. I ran on the treadmill for almost the whole class, helping relieve the stress and anger I had no idea was building up. The other half, I spent lifting weights and challenging others at lifting weights. Once it was all over, we all followed our teacher to the locker rooms and began changing into our regular uniforms. 

Normally, people wouldn't have time to shower after gym. Sure, the showers were there and you could wash your hair real quick but you couldn't get clean, dry, and dressed before the bell rang. Of course, I didn't really care about bells. So I decided to take a shower anyway.

Students chuckled and whispered as I stepped into the running hot waters. I knew they were talking about me and the thought made my face drain and my ears heat up. A few teens' echoes danced off the tiles, allowing me to hear someone mumble a few rumors while another criticized me for taking a shower at that moment. I waited till everyone was gone before I sighed and started my frowning and actually washing. 

The whole time I washed my hair, I kept thinking back to my crap shower at home. When we had first moved into the house, the shower would fill up the tub and it would slowly drain as we got dry and dressed. One time, I even took a long enough shower where, the tub filled up so much, water started flooding the floor. I got hell for messing up the fake tiles that made up the bathroom floor and ended up having to work for a month for the landlord to pay it off. Then, I had to work another week after to get draining liquids. It has been able to drain since then, but now, for some weird reason, you can't shower with hot water for more than a half hour. It annoyed me to no end.

The bell for the next class rang and I smiled. It had been about seventeen minutes. I turned off the warm water and quickly began drying myself off, thanking the shower that, even though the water wasn't hot, it was consistent. A few students began trickling into the locker room as I grabbed my clothes and ran back toward the shower stall, closing the curtain. Some had seen and even chuckled at the sight but I rolled my eyes. If I had seen someone run from the lockers and back to the shower stall with their towel barely hanging around their waist, I'd laugh too. Hell, I'd start joking with the guy.

As they walked out and jogged to the gym, I walked out and continued walking toward a set of stairs I hardly ever go down. In front of the set of stairs, the wall was made entirely of windows that looked over the parking lot, the running track, and the soccer field that sat inside the track. To pass the time, I sat down, slipping my backpack off as I leaned back against the stairs and stared. That's all. Just stared. I stared for the longest time and imagined myself on that track. I felt my foot bounce as I thought about it more, how good it would be to just run. Or to just walk to a place without any real reason other than to just walk. Not just for the sake of walking or running, either. Just to break this never ending cycle that I seemed to be on; wake up, go to school, avoid teachers, come home, chores, hide from dad, sleep, lather and repeat. I snapped my tongue off the roof of my mouth and smiled at the chocolate taste that lingered still. 

Bellow, I could hear the door at the bottom of the staircase that lead to the parking lot open, leafs blowing in as someone jumped in place. The door closed behind them and I could hear their footsteps start up to where I was. Grabbing the strap to my backpack, I readied myself to run but there was no need to. It was just a regular student; chubby with his hat too small for his already small head. He jumped at the sight of me and backed away slightly. I grunted and let my backpack go, rolling my eyes as I tried to look around him. I swear, this kid was about as big as Henry was skinny. It was actually kind of funny.

The little weirdo soon ran off up the stairs and hurried to his class. It wasn't long, though, before the bell rang, signaling a warning to me that soon the whole staircase was going to be flooded with students. I quickly grabbed my bag as it started, the sounds of teenagers talking to each other already filling the air in the halls. I could hear the weirdo groaning and explaining to someone else why they were so late and what kept them, but it was quickly drowned out by everyone else groaning and complaining. 

Once I reached the bottom of the staircase, I moved toward the wall and leaned against it. An ocean of people flooded the stairs, looking more like strobe lights with heads. The black and white uniforms flashed in front of me, long blonde and red and black hair swung this way and that. A few jocks even began shouting, clearly pumped for the big football game tomorrow. I scuffed. Halloween was for scares and spooks, for candy, costumes, horror movies. Football shouldn't be played during Halloween. If it was to be played for any holiday, then Thanksgiving would have been a better time. Like how it's showed in Hallmark movies and on cheesy t.v shows.

It slowly died down, only a few people here and there. A few teachers glanced at me with a sort of glare which I replied with a smirk and a nod. They glared harder and shook their heads, walking even faster down the hall while I chuckled. By the time the hall and stairs were cleared, the lunch bell had already rung and I was walking as fast as I could toward the cafeteria. 

The hallway was long, plain, and almost silent. A few doors sat in the right wall; the culinary, screen print, and weight rooms. With a smile, I glanced into the window of one of the doors, seeing the four kitchens that made up half the culinary room and the dinning space that littered the other side in chairs, tables, and a television. Right next to the forth kitchen was another door, the window showing the chefs jackets and hats. I rolled my eyes. Geeze, it was like every class had a changing room. Even choir class had a changing room and they only ever use it twice a year.

A brown tuff of hair flashed past the changing room window and the door opened quickly. With a gasp, I pulled my head away, feeling all the blood rush straight to my face and warm the tips of my ears. And just as I went to take a step forward to continue down the hallway, the door opened and slammed me in the face, the sound of my nose cracking making me yelp. 

“Fuck!” I screamed and stumbled backward, bringing my hands up to my face. The blood dribbled out and dripped past my lips as I began to chuckle. 

“Sorry...” The culprit whispered and pulled my hands away, dabbing at my face with a handkerchief. 

Looking down, I smirked at the sight of that chestnut hair and green eyes. “Well hello to you too.” 

Henry glared slightly, frowning as he continued to clean my face. “What were you doing peeking into a classroom like that?” He asked before licking the corner of the cloth and continuing. 

“And what were you doing in such a rush?” I kept my smirk. When he didn't say anything back, I stopped his hands, feeling no more blood drip from my already sore and bruising nose. “I don't think we've ever introduced ourselves to each other.”

“Henry.” He said quickly, rolling up his handkerchief and sticking it in his pocket. 

I nodded and loosened my tie. “Jack. And Henry is a stupid sounding name.” Henry raised an eyebrow, clearly offended by my comment. I placed a hand up and sneaked my other arm around his shoulders as I started walking with him. “No offense, that is.”

“You called my name stupid, yes, I'm going to be offended.” 

“Well, do you even like your name?”

There was silence for a while as he looked away, his hands slipping into his pockets. “Not...really.”He whispered.

“Let's give you a cute name...”

“What? Cute?! Why not man-”

“Hiccup. You look like a Hiccup. Yes, I shall call you after a bodily function.”

“That's stupi-”

“Come now, young Hiccup! You broke my nose and the only payment I shall take is extra chocolate milk!”


	5. The power of nostalgia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy your day, beautiful :D

FASTFORWARD.

Lunch was filled with people asking me if I was alright, talking, laughing, and all the chocolate milk I could drink. Which, in the end, ended up to be about five small cartons, including the one the school is forced to give you. When we had gotten up to the line and he began putting carton upon carton onto his tray, I whispered to him that I was just joking, that he really didn't have to. First hot chocolate, now chocolate milk? That was way too much. But he shrugged me off, telling me it was fine when it really wasn't and continued getting his own lunch.

For those who could afford it, lunch was a salad, the main course(today it was meatball sub sandwiches), a fruit of their choice, a small snack side dish, and a fancy soda if they wanted. Unfortunately, I am not one of those few, so my lunch was smaller; the main course with a fruit, and a milk of my choice. The main course was hardly any good so most days, I would nibble on an apple or some kiwi. Rarely did they have oranges. I love oranges.

Once everything I could have for lunch was on the plain black, plastic tray I always seemed to get, I had begun walking out of the cafeteria. A few people glanced and gasped, asking if I was okay, did I need to go to the nurse, but I shrugged them off. Others began telling me that I deserved to get punched in the nose and that if I would just look normal for one fucking day, that people wouldn't hate me as much. I shrugged them off too, continuing my way toward the outside sitting area. That is, until Hiccup stopped me, grabbing my arm and bringing me over to a table far in the back that only one other person sat at. And here I thought he sat with an entire study group with books stuck to their noses. I stared at this other person, this boy, and smirked as the memory passed through my head. It was the little weirdo from the stairs. His jacket and hat was off, showing the weirdest little tuff of blond hair I had ever seen. It stuck up every which way and I sat down, staring at it more than anything else.

As the hour and a half went by, I learned many things; the guy's name was Chris but nearly everyone knew him as Fishlegs. He got the name when he was just a little kid and went on a class trip to the ocean. He ended up swimming farther out than everybody else and a shark ended up biting his leg, causing bullies to come up with many rumors and stories. By the time he came back to school, everyone began calling him that. As he told his story and showed me the awesome scar he had from the accident, I couldn't help but think that it was odd how we all came from different elementary schools. Hiccup came from a religious school known for it's strict dress code, it's uniformed playground, and stone walls that surround everything. He even told a little story about how scared he was to write with his left hand but found out how most of the stereotypes weren't true about religious schools. Chris had come from a different, yet just as rich-type school. Uniforms were only needed for school trips, picture days, and formal events the school would be hosting. I decided to keep quiet about which elementary school I came from. It wasn't as nice as theirs but it wasn't a dump either. It was clean, it was nice. The teachers were decent enough and we always had a winter festival which was a day for nothing but games in the halls and classrooms. Yet, there were a lot of...'misbehaved' kids who ended up in correction facilities. Some just didn't get a good enough education because of the assumption that we all could read and write and do everything that was needed to learn everything. 

When Chris finally started to relax, we all began cracking jokes. We made puns about things around us and made fun of teachers that we didn't care for very much. By the time the bell rang, my stomach hurt and throat was raw from trying to talk while laughing. We put our trays away and they marched to their classes. Before I walked my own way up to the third floor boy's bathroom, I turned and stared at the back of Hiccup's head. To anyone else, it sounded and even looked pathetic as I waited for him to turn around and wave. I don't know why I wanted or expected him to do it so bad, but I did and I stared until he was out of sight. Slowly, I made my own way up to the third floor bathroom and lit a cigarette, sitting at the window sill. For most of the rest of the day, I tried to think of reasons why I would want him to wave. Maybe it was because I had seen so many other people wave to their friends as they walked away and I wanted that sort of reassurance that yeah, we might actually be friends and we didn't just talk for this one time. Because talking to someone once and getting to know them a bit is nice but then not ever talking to them again was horrible. I sighed. Somehow, someway, my mom would find out I did more than just talk to him. I spent an entire lunch with the kid. If she found out, she'd be all over me, trying to pry details from my very soul. 

I didn't think I would feel this way when the last bell rang and I didn't see him in the halls. The uniforms didn't help either; making everyone look like they are all the same person. I frowned and continued walking, making my way home. I had to face facts; I'm not going to make friends with people like him. We had one lunch together and that's all we'll ever have. We walked to school once and that might be all we'll ever get. It had happened many times before; I sit and talk with a partner for a project, a person at lunch, some random player on my team for gym, and I never see any of them again. Save for in the halls and what not. I look up as I walk and see people saying thank you for opening a door, telling others to have a nice day as they get out of a cab. They are only talking once. They'll never see that person again. Sometimes I wonder if it's better they don't or if it'd really help them if they did. 

Emma, my sister, was sitting on the steps of our house when I turned the corner, poking at her Spiderman backpack. I could see the flickering lights in his head from here. “Hey, Em.” I said, sitting next to her. “Why are you outside?” 

“Felt like coming outside...” Sibling code for 'dad is having a fit and I didn't really want to hear it'. 

I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, rubbing her arm in hopes to comfort her. “What started it?” I whispered, leaning my head against hers. 

She shrugged. “He said you were corrupting me and got upset with mom when she came home with the rest of the stuff for my Captain America costume.” Emma only watched and read Marvel superheros. DC was like acid to her.

“He wanted you to be a princess.” I commented. My dad was one of those people where princesses were girls and superheros were boys and there was no changing it. The girl grows up beautifully and marries the man. The boy grows up strong and marries the lady. If anything else were dropped into the mess; men together, women together, one person growing up realizing they are placed in the wrong gender, it is wrong. 

Emma nodded and hugged her backpack close, as if she was trying to hold onto the last real, true piece of her. She still loved barbies and princess things, but superheros were up there pretty high. “I think I'll just be a princess...”

“You don't have to be, Em.”

“I want to. It's okay...”

My dad also had the nasty habit of scaring people in order to shape them into what he wanted them to be. I was meant to be a student with nothing but 'A's, having the same hair and eyes I've had since birth. My career was supposed to be leaning towards the doctor side of the tracks and I was to have a wife once I hit twenty-five. Possibly, with kids. When I realized how crazy it all sounded and how impossible it was for me, I decided to show that I wasn't going to be shaped by the fear he gave off anymore. I begged my mother for contacts. For hair dye and for piercings. I got her blessing for tattoos and soon, I felt like everything I wore was a type of shield. 

She didn't have that kind of thought process. Appearance meant nothing to her. Her shield was on the inside; covering her heart, her head, everything. Being able to get through her walls was a long, delicate process that made you feel like one wrong move and it's back to square one. Which it was. And my dad, one of the few people who tried to get close to her, never even made it past square one. 

I frowned. I could tell by the way she nuzzled her head into her backpack that she didn't really want to be a princess for Halloween. That it really effected her that dad was being so hard on her about it, not accepting that she wanted to be a hero, not a damsel. I wrapped my arms around her in a hug and stroked her hair, trying to get her to relax, to not feel so horrible about the world. 

“Hey...” I said after a while, trying to put on my best smile. “Want to read to me? Afterward, I can take you to the park and we can play on the swings. How does that sound?”

Emma smiled and stood up, taking my hand and walking inside with me. When we opened the door, we noticed the house was quiet but you could still cut through the tension with a hot butter knife. It was silent torture, a calm before a huge storm. We walked as fast and as quietly as we could up the stairs and into her room. I always liked her room better than mine. While I had some nice stuff; a few posters, big bed, gaming system, she had whimsical decorations. I always made sure of it.

Her walls were a bright shade of purple, action figures and barbies alike scattering the floor. She walked over to her bookshelf while I sat in her window bay, curling up against the windows. Above me were little fairies we had made with sticks and paper and above them were glow in the dark stars. I looked up at them all and smiled. This bay, this sanctuary we have created was my favorite place in the house. I felt untouchable by the outside world and when she started to read our favorite story, Alice in Wonderland, I was in a completely different place.

Our mother would read this to me at night when I was little and then to Emma when she came along. It always made me wish that someday a white rabbit would come along and I'd follow it to a wonderland where there were no watching eyes, no judgments, no fathers. Just me, Emma, and my mom, painting roses red. 

She smiled as she read to me and I just stared outside, zoning out and imagining my own little happy place. Who would be there? Would they like me? I smiled and pressed my forehead against the window more, enjoying the cold it brought to my forehead. A small breeze entered through a crack and tickled the bottom of my back, spreading the nice, cold feeling throughout my body. Worries about everything melted and I felt pumped to do anything right then. I could run a marathon or climb a mountain. Slowly but surely, it became darker. And as she finished, I tried to contain myself from dragging her out the door and toward the park. I looked over at her, watching her close the book and place it gently back into place. 

“You know, Jack,” she started. “you're going to have to learn how to read sometime.” 

My smile fell and I looked back outside. The street lights were already on. “I know, Em. I'll start learning tomorrow.”

“You always say that.” Emma muttered almost angrily. She was right, of course. I had to learn to read sometime. My mother tried to teach me once when I was very young. Sometimes, when she read to me, she would ask me to read a little bit with her. But by then, I was already pretending to fall asleep and make it into my wonderland as quickly as possible. Even at school, I would avoid reading aloud, saying that I had a sore throat. Not like the teachers cared enough to teach me anyways.

“I like it better when you read.” I wanted to learn, but I was too scared to make a mistake. You make a mistake in this house, you might as well give up on whatever you were going to try. “Come on, let's go outside. The park, remember?” 

She almost glared at me when she looked over but as soon as she saw my face, my crazy grin practically glowing, she let out a small giggle. “You and your stupid park.” Sibling talk for 'let's get ready, already'.

I chuckled and ruffled her hair, quietly sneaking into my room as my dad screamed in his own, the sound of laser guns firing in the background. Stripping off my uniform, I put it back on its hanger and grabbed a regular pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and my favorite sneakers. I threw on my sweatshirt and hat a minute later, tip-toeing almost to Emma's room and lightly knocked on the door. She came bouncing out in a much thicker jacket, hat, and even mittens. With a smile, she tugged my sleeve and we began making our way downstairs. We peaked into the kitchen and quietly told our mother we'd be back soon, grabbed a cell phone that was pretty old but still usable, and left. 

The wind blew against my hand, sending shivers up my spine. I hissed slightly, quickly covering it up with a chuckle before Emma could really notice. She always worried about every little thing; if I was sick, if she would die from a splinter. Once, she looked up on her school laptop to see what kind of illness she had and came into my room crying, scared she had throat cancer. It was actually just a sore throat from singing in her choir class and practicing for the winter concert. 

With every corner we turned and every step we took, she seemed to be so far ahead of me. She stopped a few times to wait for me to hurry up and the whole walk to the park made me feel much older than I already was. When we finally got there, we challenged each other to a swinging contest. I ended up swinging all the way around, making her gasp and jump off, and making me laugh. Emma began telling me off as I fell off the swing, holding my side as my laughter became silent but there. I could barely hear her, but I knew that it was worried words; telling me never to do that again, that I worried her horribly, that I was a terrible brother. Opening my eyes, I looked over and saw Hiccup across the street, taking the trash out in a very uniformed looking autumn coat and hat. I sat up and waved slightly, my heart jumping from it's place and into my lungs. This was sort of it. The kind of wave, if he gave any, would show if we'd ever talk again or if that was just a one time thing. Slowly, he put his hand up and waved, giving off a soft grin, showing his crooked teeth. 

My smile turned into a grin and I stood up, walking over to the sidewalk that surrounded the whole park. “Hey, wanna hang out? We're about to throw pine cones at each other.” Emma and I were really into snow and snowball fights. But it was October and the world was a dick so this was what we had until the real stuff came. She started the game to cheer me up.

“That...sounds really unsanitary.” Hiccup's grin became his sarcastic straight face, the same he used earlier today. 

“We don't have any snowballs.” I shrugged. 

He groaned and scratched the space behind his right ear, frowning. His gaze reverted down and I sat there, my grin fading as the silence became deafening. Finally, he smiled and looked up at us, his hand falling to his side. “How about tag?”

I smiled softly, stuffing my hands into my pockets. “Sure.” 

PAUSE.

Gym class was the best class when I was a little kid. It was like play time. Red rover, cat and mouse, dodge ball. But tag was my favorite. The way we did tag in school was, we all started on one side of the gym. One person was It and the object for the other people was to cross to the other side without getting tagged. If you were tagged, you froze in place and you had to tag other people when they ran back across the room. I loved it because, when I was It, I dive bombed after people. If I knew I wouldn't be able to reach them by running, I'd sprint toward them and jump, diving and sometimes knocking them off their feet. I was sent to the nurse more times than I could count.

It had been years since I had played tag. Playing with two people wasn't as fun as playing with three or four. And as we played, I didn't feel like the world was that bad of a place. I felt like a child again, dive bombing at poor, unfortunate souls.


	6. Costumes are always handmade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holidays are some of the worst and best times. If you guys need to talk, I'm here for you. I know some families are not completely accepting and if you want to talk about it, I'm here, yo.

PLAY.

By the time we called quits, it was dark out, the only lights coming from the lampposts surrounding the playground and the moon above. It was a little wet and cold, but we collapsed on our backs, laying on the ground as we stared at the sky. Emma laid to my right while Hiccup panted on my left. He had a scrapped elbow and a bruised arm, all caused by my violent seriousness to tag. 

My breath puffed out of my mouth and nose, creating steam against the cold October air. I had always done this when I used to walk Emma to school. I would tell her to look up and as soon as she did, I'd make the best train noises I could, steam puffing from my mouth. But right now, I just enjoyed it, smiling from ear to ear; even though it was freezing and the entire backside of me was soaked now and I was sure to get hell from mom when we walked in with twigs and bugs in our hair. It'd be a race to the bathroom for sure.

Slowly, I turned my head, looking over at Hiccup. At some point, he had taken his hat off and stuffed it into his jacket pocket, making one side of him larger than the other. His hair spiked up and I could see his crooked teeth as he breathed through his mouth. The moon as well as the lampposts reflected off of his glasses like the sun had earlier that day. I could barely make out the color of his eyes as he moved them around, looking at star after star. It seemed as though he was connecting them, trying to make his own constellations. 

After a moment or so, Emma groaned and sat up, causing me to look over. “Okay, let's go home. I need a shower.” 

“I'm oldest, I get to shower first.” I chuckled as I sat up as well. “And don't say that's not fair because it is. I've lived in that house longer than you so I should be able to take a shower first.” 

She rolled her eyes and stood up, brushing the dew covered dirt and grass off her back. “Yeah, okay, but I get to have the first mug of hot coco after all the showers are done.”

How dare she play that card! She knew I loved hot chocolate! Besides lemonade and root beer, it was my favorite drink of all! I grumbled and did the same, turning so that the pieces of earth I brushed off wouldn't hit poor Hiccup in the face. “Fine...Go head home, I'll be there in a bit.”

With that, she nodded, turned on her heel and began walking home, her feet slightly skipping as she did. I watched her until she had walked around the corner then looked down at my hands which were covered in dirt. Parts of my palms shimmered against the lights like they always did when they got dirty from playing outside and I began wondering the same thing I always did when this happened: why is there fucking glitter in the ground? Seriously, glitter is like the hardest things to get off! I tried rubbing my palms on my pants, grunting a bit out of frustration, when I saw Hiccup had stood up and now was watching me with a concerned look. Like he was worried about my mental well being or like he was trying to figure out why on earth I was swearing at dirt glitter.

I sighed and shook my head, rubbing my hands together to get the rest of the dirt off. “So you live in this neighborhood?” 

“Yeah.” He nodded, giving a slight shrug. 

“Which one again is it?”

“That one.”

Right behind me was his house; a two story large house with a yard, a garage, everything. I hadn't even noticed he came out of something like that. Frankly, I was too busy noticing him and trying to get him to hang out then anything else. 

On the outside, our house looked like that of a doll house; blue sided panels that were plastic, fake bricks around the base, and the roof was this ungodly gray. I mean, I like gray, but this was that gray that made you wonder if it was dirty or if it was just like that. His house though, his house was perfect. Like something from a t.v show. Brown, real wood panels met up with what seemed to be river rocks at the base, the roof this lovely, shiny black. The walkway was perfect, not a crack or anything. I imagined what it must be like there, the Christmas parties they would hold. My cheeks began to heat up as I compared mine to his. 

I kept a straight face and nodded, sniffling from the cold that now made everything in my nose start to run. “Nice house.” 

“Thanks. Which one is yours?” 

“Uhh...mine is...not here. Nope, we live, uh, a little ways from here.” My hand waved off to where Emma had just run off to. “It's small...”

Hiccup nodded with a slight smile, looking off in that direction. “I bet your house is nice, too.” He said before beginning his walk back home. “See you tomorrow, then.”

I nodded back and began my own walk home. Every step I took, though, I glanced at him, a question bubbling in my chest. I could feel my tongue flicker against my teeth like a lizard and finally, I just screamed out to him. “Hey!”

He turned around and stared at me, slightly startled. My lips quivered, knowing what to say and how to say it but refusing to open. Finally, I forced them open and after a moment, words began stumbling out of my mouth. “Um...are we...friends or something?” 

Hiccup curled his lips into his mouth and looked down at the sidewalk in thought. He crossed his arms over his chest before nodding, looking back up at me as he pushed his glasses up his nose. “Yeah. I guess we can be. We need to get to know each other a little more first.”

“Yeah.” I nodded again. “Like...at school tomorrow?”

“That'd be cool. We could walk there together if you're up early enough.”

He smiled as I grinned, nodding once again like an idiot. I loved my sister, but there were days I'd love to walk to school with just a friend. Or a group of them; talking and laughing. And now, I was getting just that; a friend that I can talk to and have even crazier adventures with. Someone to help get me out of the house.

“I'll, uh...see you in the morning then.” I said, backing up as I walked down the sidewalk, hitting a lamppost. “Damn things...” With that last whisper, I completely turned and walked off.

The rest of the night wasn't as enjoyable. When I walked through the door, my dad began listing off all the things that could have happened to Emma on her own walk home. She could have been kidnapped, assaulted, killed, and many more other things that I hardly thought about. I wanted to tell him, tell him I thought it was safe seeing as she walks longer distances to get to school and back but I knew he wouldn't have any of it. He'd tell me off more and more until my ears finally started bleeding. And when he started telling me that I need to set a better example, that I need to start really looking out for her, I wish they did. Anything to get his voice out of my head.

When he was finally done, I went up to my room without dinner(my own choice) and continued working on my costume for tomorrow. I took my shirt and pants from their bins of water and hung them up by a string that was tied above them. No one in my family could afford real shirt dye, so I had to look up some tips. This one with the colored chalk seemed to be working out real good and I grinned as I watched my yellow shirt and orange pants drip dry from the makeshift clothes line. My now bare feet brushed up against the bag that sat under my bed; Emma's costume. She had been looking forward to wearing it since she saw the newest Captain America movie and my heart sunk when I realized dad wouldn't let her. The three of them laughed from the living room, but I could hear it from here. The drips from my costume fell into the colored water below them, the sound mixing with my mother trying to say something while holding her laugh back. She failed and laughed anyway, my father and sister joining her. I wanted to leave my room and join them, actually have some sort of normal family fun, but the last thing I wanted was to be around my dad and make him even madder, so, I stayed in my room.

After a while, I took out the bag from under my bed and began working on her shield some more. I opened my window and sprayed some clear paint on the front of it all, pulling my shirt up over my nose and slightly holding my breath. The can said to do it outside and, in hindsight, I was probably going to regret this later. Still, I continued till the construction paper star in the middle was flat and the whole thing shined like a real shield. Once that was finished, I pulled out her old, blue sweatshirt from the bag and finished stitching each stripe onto the bottom. Our sewing machine was heavy and stayed under my parent's bed so most of the time, if we had to make something, we did it by hand. And Halloween costumes? Always by hand. There were a few years we went in store bought costumes, but most Halloweens, we wore handmade things.

I winced slightly as the needle pricked my thumb, the sound of everyone laughing in the living room following very shortly after as if they had seen it. Frowning, I tried my hardest to focus on the task at hand. Of course though, it didn't last long. I continued to sew as I remembered one of the best costumes mom had made for Emma. It was when she was six and begged to go as Tinkerbell. We had gotten the wings from the store but the rest was made at home from different old green clothes we had. Sparkles were added to it upon my sister's request and we were all covered in the stuff for weeks after. It was horrible.

Surprisingly, it didn't take that long to finish. Once the stripes were on, I stuffed the costume into the plastic bag and threw the whole thing under my bed. By now, I could hear my father screaming at the people in his game and Emma began knocking on the wall separating our rooms. I smiled and grabbed the shirt to my costume off the line, walking out. I knocked on her door and ruffled her hair, telling her the good news as we made our way to the bathroom to dry the shirt. She stayed there with me for a while just staring at the dryer and talking about things she was currently thinking about. She was thinking about creating her own sort of superhero; one that had proper clothes and decent flaws. I began creating my own supervillain as she talked, explaining how her hero had no chance against my villain's awesome skills. Our mother came up after a while, handing me some reheated dinner and giving Emma a small plate of cookies with a glass of milk. Over the sounds of the dryer, we could faintly hear our father scream at another person on his game before storming out, slamming the door behind him. Although he had never hit us, we jumped and shook, becoming tense and getting ready for a kick or slap. Some days, I just wish he would hit me so I could charge him. 

He walked down into the living room and fell back into his chair violently. For a moment, we stayed silent, listening in on his motions before turning to each other and continue eating. After the shirt was dried and the color was in there pretty good, I sent Emma off to bed and began drying the pants. As soon as I sat down and watched the dryer, time began to move uncomfortably slow. Minutes weren't minutes anymore and the space between each tick and tock seemed to grow more and more. Quicker than I thought, my eyelids became heavier and heavier. I closed my eyes and leaned back against the washer for what seemed like a second but, when I finally opened my eyes, the dryer had stopped and the sun was just peaking through the bathroom window. 

“Shit!” I hissed under my breath. I got up as fast as I could, grabbing my pants from the dryer and running to my room. 

This whole day was supposed to go according to plan; I was going to wake up, take a shower, put on my costume with pride, meet up with Hiccup, and walk to school where I'd do not much all day. Now that I looked outside my window, seeing students already walking in their costumes, I realized that none of that was really going to happen. Walk to school with Hic maybe, but everything else wasn't. I've noticed it's like some sort of domino effect; one bad thing leads to another then another and soon, your whole day is fucked up. 

My arms had no idea how to be arms and my legs forgot how to slip into pants, a side effect from rushing. Grabbing my bag, I walked out of my room and ran down the stairs, fixing up my hair as I said goodbye to everyone in the dinning room. Emma beamed up at me and stopped me just as I grabbed the doorknob, spinning in her...rather strange costume. She wore the Captain America sweatshirt but, obviously for my father's pleasure, wore a blue tutu with it. It shined and sparkled as she pointed down at her feet, showing her blue tights and blue rain boots, white stars printed on them. I told her she looked amazing, which was true, she did, and I ruffled her hair before jumping out the door. Walking a little ways down toward his house, I saw him turning the corner, wearing a lab coat instead of the school's issued blazer. Pushing up his glasses, he looked much smarter than normal. 

I smiled and gestured to myself, showing off my handmade awesomeness. He sighed and shook his head, seemingly suppressing a smile. When he walked up to me, he took his hands out of his pockets, holding onto his backpack straps instead. 

“Trick or treat.”

“Happy Halloween, Jackson.” 

“Where did you get the lab coat?” I tugged at the sleeve, wondering if it was real.

He shrugged. “My mom works with animals down at he shelter. This is a vet's coat which I wear when I help her cure sick animals.” 

“So you're Hiccup the Hero for Halloween?” 

Hiccup rolled his eyes and nodded. “Yes, Jack, I'm Hiccup the Hero.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments please if you wish for me to continue!


End file.
